DIRTY

by Robert White

  Jimmy had changed from the hardened, streetwise criminal, to a pathetic childlike creature, re-telling a catastrophic event in his life. Dave guessed this was the first telling. The kind of scenario every parent prays never to hear from their own child.

  Jimmy took a deep breath. It was all going to come out now. The floodgate was open and nothing was going to stop it.

  “When Clarke pulled my trousers down, I honestly thought he was going to tan my hide. Instead, they took it in turns to fuck me.”

  This time, Dave was unable to hide his horror, “Jesus Jimmy.”

  Now Jimmy actually seemed pleased to get the reaction from his cellmate. “Yeah, fuckin’ hell it hurt. Clarke kept telling me what a naughty boy I was. He was doin’ it, yet he spoke to me as if he was giving a lecture or having his fuckin’ tea. It was as if nothing was happening. Every time I cried out, Holmes stuck his dick in my mouth. One thing though, neither of them came in me. They were careful not to want to leave any evidence. It weren’t pure lust like. No, they were completely in control. It was all planned. Every last detail was planned.”

  Jimmy paused for breath. He was actually sweating. Dave could see he had pushed his fingernails into his palm during the story.

  The blood on his hand seemed to jog his memory and his voice dropped again, his eyes watering, close to tears.

  “I was bleeding quite bad; Clarke stuffed a load of tissues down my undies, told me to keep my mouth shut and sent me to bed.”

  Jimmy fell silent for a while. He looked deflated. “That was the start of it all. Not a pretty story eh?”

  Dave was shocked. He’d never heard anyone recount such a harrowing tale. He could think of nothing, else to say but, “Jimmy, I’m sorry.”

  Jimmy seemed to regain his composure. The cheeky street face returned to mask what Dave knew was beneath.

  “Hey, fuck it. It was a long time ago.”

  Dave still needed more information, he pressed his luck. “Do you still see Holmes?”

  “Oh yeah. He’s the fuckin’ reason I’m on remand isn’t it.”

  Jimmy settled into his story again. All trace of emotional sadness alarmingly gone.

  “Look, after that night, there were lots more nights. Sometimes it would be Clarke, sometimes Holmes. I was introduced to other boys in the home, all doing the same, then to other friends of Holmes. I’m not saying that what Clarke and Holmes did turned me the way I am but I started going with the other boys.

  I admit I enjoyed it, even then. We were sort of friends. Comrades in arms like, a boys club. I felt like I belonged to somethin’ for once.”

  “Then one day,” Jimmy laughed, “Holmes tells me I can make some money. Lots of it.”

  Jimmy rubbed his thumb and forefinger together to make his point.

  “He gets me and another boy, to put on a little, ‘private show’ for one of his mates. We do the business, while this fat old fart watches and tosses himself off in the corner. We made twenty-five quid each. It was a fortune. So, we start doing it regular. Holmes and his friends were a good source of punters. I somehow forgot how they got me in and started to think more about the ca...”

  Jimmy stopped dead. There was silence again, then quietly, each syllable painful, “…the cash.”

  Dave thought the man make falter, but somewhere inside him he found the words.

  “Some boys though, they never got used to it. Some weren’t strong enough. I know of two who topped themselves. One was only fuckin’ nine when they started on him.”

  Jimmy shivered as if to shrug off the image only he could see. “Anyway time ticks on and I get too old for the tastes of Holmes and his mates. By now, of course, I have lots of contacts for boys and clients. So, I started putting two and two together and went into business for myself. I provide some freebies to Holmes, you know, boys of the age he likes and in return, he looks after my legal problems. That is, he used to. When I got lifted this time, Holmes had done a runner and I was left high and dry.”

  Dave was intrigued. “Why’d he do a runner?”

  Jimmy shrugged and blew air from his mouth. “I dunno, couple of days ago he just disappeared. The coppers just tell me he’s not available. I was left with some arsehole of a duty solicitor who doesn’t know a thumb from a pair of tits and I get remanded.”

  Dave sat on the end of his bunk and brushed his fingers through his hair.

  “Very strange, Jimmy, very strange indeed.”

  Jimmy looked straight into Dave’s eyes. There was one more tale to tell.

  “I’ll tell you this though Dave, I look after my boys and before you say it, no, I don’t get them into it. I just look after the ones who are already in. Take them off the street like.”

  Dave didn’t go a bundle on Jimmy’s version of social conscience. His was a sad story, but he was sure, every con on the wing had one. It wasn’t that Dave didn’t have feelings, but he wasn’t Marjory Proops either. He just wanted to know about Holmes. It was the only link to his case in this place. It just may be the link he needed.

  “Did you know William Bailey?”

  Jimmy shrugged. “Not really, met him a couple of times. He was a bad boy from all accounts.”

  Dave lay back on his bed and contemplated the information. So, Holmes was bent. What difference did that make? Could McCauley have had something on Holmes? Did Holmes know about the files?

  Dave needed out more than ever.

  Jimmy snored loudly in the darkness. Dave toyed with the unopened box of cigarettes. Finally, he decided to open the package. He flipped open the top. Everything still looked normal. He removed the top layer of packets. The bottom layer had been cut out in the centre and a sealed plastic bag sat where cigarettes should be. Dave quietly tore open the package and spread the contents on his bed.

  Two keys, one obviously for a vehicle, another for a house; a bank card, in the name of J. Jackson and a note.

  It read,

  Dave,

  For when you get bail.

  Red Volvo in garage.

  10 Walker Place,

  Blackpool.

  PIN no 8876

  Use as much as you need.

  Ross.

  twenty

  The morning sun had yet to grace Lancashire with its presence. The only light in the bedroom came from the hall. Trevor Marshall had been awake for over an hour. He waited for his alarm clock to sound.

  For the first time he could remember, Marshall was dreading going to work. He had always loved his job, even the danger it sometimes posed.

  His wife slept soundly next to him, taking advantage of the fact that the kids were away at their grandparents for a few days. Marshall gave in and switched off the alarm a full hour prior to its setting.

  He showered and dressed, being careful not to wake his wife. He made coffee and toast for himself and sat at the breakfast bar.

  During his first mouthful, the telephone disturbed him. It was Marie Baker.

  She had been allocated as exhibits officer on the murders. Marshall had told Marie to release certain items of Anne’s clothing for examination by the defence. Now she had a further problem.

  “I’ve had Mister Wallace on the phone twice already this morning boss. I’ve asked him to wait until you get in at ten, but he’s a very persistent gentleman.”

  Marshall could hear the sarcasm in Marie’s tone. “Marie, I’ve already told you to release anything they require. Let’s not make an enemy of this man. He’s a very influential gentleman, not to mention the father of a dead colleague.”

  Marie seemed mildly irritated, unusual for her, “I know what you said boss, but this is a big problem.”

  “Go on.”

  “Wallace wants his forensic guy to inspect the cord that tied Anne’s hands. I told him I would have it for him later today.”

  “And?”

  “It’s gone.”

  “Gone where?’

  “Missing.”

  Marshall couldn’t believe his ears. “Who has had
access, other than our team?”

  Marie thought for a moment. “All the hard evidence is kept in the CID property store. There is a Constable in there during the day. But at night, any officer can get the key from the charge office.”

  Marshall’s head spun. This was all he needed. “I want the property store P.C. and the charge office Sergeant in my office within the hour. I don’t care if you have to wake them. No excuses.”

  Marshall slammed the telephone onto its cradle.

  He spoke to the empty kitchen. “I’ve had enough of this.”

  Marshall stormed from the house and took his own car. He had no time to call his regular driver. He wanted answers, before he had to deal with Wallace.

  He drove swiftly through the early morning traffic. There were so many question marks against this case now. Someone on the inside, or someone with enough money to buy them inside, was taking the piss.

  Finally, after much cursing and swearing, he arrived at Preston Police station.

  He burst into the incident room. Marie Baker and Slick Jemson were already there.

  “What the fuck is going on here?” Marshall threw his coat onto the nearest table.

  Slick tried to calm him. “We’re already on with it boss, the guys you wanted are on the way.”

  It didn’t have any effect on Marshall. “I don’t give a fuck. What I want to know is what have you lot done?”

  The two officers looked blank.

  Marshall flared, “Fuck all I see. Well, we will start with a search of the store. I want every item in the store checked against records. Not just our job, but every single fuckin’ piece of property in the place. With luck it will turn up.”

  Marie started, “But boss, I have already…”

  Marshall was unstoppable. “Then do it again!”

  The final syllable was followed by the slam of his office door. The two officers looked at each other. Marie shrugged. “We’d better get on with it.

  Marshall stormed around his desk, his head full of questions. He knew this job was just too easy. Why the fuck didn’t he stand up to the Chief? This was the final straw.

  Unfortunately, his day was about to get worse.

  “Superintendent Marshall!”

  Marshall spun toward his door to see Robert Wallace standing in the doorway. Marshall stopped himself from asking how the fuck Wallace got there. This was one resourceful bastard.

  Wallace by comparison was the picture of serenity. “Having a bad day Superintendent?”

  Marshall flopped into his seat and beckoned Wallace to sit. “I’ve had better Sir. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “You can release the item of evidence I requested two hours ago. May I remind you of the law regarding such matters?”

  Marshall didn’t wait for the act and section. He held up his hands to stop Wallace. “We are currently doing everything in our power to provide the item you requested sir. The problem is our own Forensic specialists are currently examining it.

  Wallace raised his eyebrows at the lie. He had spent the best part of his adult life questioning people. He could smell an untruth at twenty paces. Wallace stood. His serene manner replaced with one of irritation.

  “Your case, Superintendent, is in tatters. In the space of two days my colleagues and I have torn it to shreds. We will be making a bail application for Stewart on Monday morning. Rest assured, it will be granted, with or without the exhibit I request. Now, I realise that you assisted me by putting me in touch with Constable Dunn, so, I in turn, will give you this advice. I strongly recommend that you put as much distance between yourself and this prosecution as possible; for your own sake and the sake of your career. Do I make myself clear?” Wallace turned to the door, then added, “Be very aware that the longer this young man spends in jail, the stronger the case for unlawful imprisonment becomes.”

  Wallace was gone before he could reply.

  Marshall opened his desk drawer and removed the Stewart file. What had Wallace and team found that made them so sure of themselves? Was Wallace just playing games? A light suddenly came on in Marshall’s head.

  Marshall picked up his telephone. “Get me Constable Andy Dunn.”

  This was a race now and Marshall did not intend to be second.

  Wallace walked to the Rolls. Davits could see that he was empty-handed.

  “They didn’t hand over the cord then?”

  Wallace was still angry. “I have a feeling that we are never going to see that particular item Peter.” He tapped on the divider and beckoned his driver to move on.

  “Whoever is responsible for this latest error, if indeed that is all it is, has made a grave mistake.”

  The car sped off into the traffic. Wallace was on a roll. “Thomas will be here within the hour. The Graphologist, Simmons, will arrive around the same time. Staples, is already on his way. We will hold a conference this afternoon. Once the bail hearing is out of the way and David Stewart has his liberty, the real work will start.”

  The witch-hunt at the Police Station had started.

  Marshall had grilled the property room Constable and the night charge Sergeant. They knew, or were saying, nothing. The search of the property store revealed the same.

  Now it was Andy Dunn’s turn.

  Marshall was in no mood for pleasantries. “What the fuck did you tell Wallace, Andy?”

  Andy too, was pissed off at Marshall. “Now wait a minute, Trevor. If I recall, it was you who put Wallace in touch with me. I didn’t go looking for this.”

  It didn’t wash with Marshall. “Don’t fuck me around here Andy. If you only told him what you told me, then why is he so fuckin’ confident?”

  Andy wasn’t about to tell anyone that he had been poking about in the Stewart file.

  “You’ll need to ask Wallace that. All I told Wallace was what I knew about Dave. How he met Anne, that kind of thing.”

  Marshall calmed slightly. “OK Andy. I’m sorry for landing you with this, but it’s getting to the point where I don’t know who to trust anymore.”

  Andy felt bad about misleading his friend, but should he jeopardise Dave’s bail by tipping off the prosecution? As far as Andy was concerned, Dave was innocent, simple as that.

  “Listen Trevor, you know that Dave’s motive for this job stinks. Don’t you think the whole job seems too easy? I mean, come on, leaving all that evidence for all to see. It’s not right.”

  Marshall needed help. “Please Andy, there’s more. I know it.”

  Andy squirmed in his seat. “OK, check the handwriting on the property register against Dave’s.”

  Marshall’s stomach turned. How could he have missed it? All the pressure from above had made him sloppy.

  “It’s different?”

  “Nothing like boss.”

  Marshall rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Jesus Christ Andy, we’re in trouble here.”

  Andy sighed, “There’s more. I got another call from Wallace this morning. He wanted to know if Dave was left or right handed.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No. I just told him he was right handed.”

  It was of no consequence. Marshall already knew why.

  “Thanks Andy.”

  The second the door closed, Marshall picked up the telephone to gather his troops. Now his own integrity was on the line, this was no time to sit and wait.

  Within minutes, Jemson and Marie Baker were sitting in front of their harassed boss, who was surrounded by piles of paper and exhibits.

  “OK,” Marshall was tense, but he was never the kind of man to roll over easily. “This party is well and truly over. What I am about to tell you is strictly confidential. It stays in this room. Nothing is to be written down until we know more. No one and I mean not even your mother gets another scrap of information unless I clear it. Understood?”

  Marie was concerned for her boss; she had never seen him in such a mood. “What’s going on sir?”

  Marshall held up his hand. “I’ll tell
you what I know, and then what I believe is happening. After that we bounce it around and plan just like always.

  He cleared his throat and took a deep breath.

  “I believe that someone on the inside wants this inquiry to be swept under the carpet. They, whoever they are want it bad enough they are prepared to steal evidence to achieve it.”

  Marshall held up two sheets of paper.

  “First, I’m no expert, but even I can see David Stewart did not write the entries in the property register, or Bailey’s arrest sheet. That information alone blows most of his motive to Kingdom come.”

  He handed copies of the documents to his team, together with a handwriting sample of Dave Stewart’s. The two officers studied them for a moment.

  Jemson let out a low whistle. “How did we miss this?”

  Marshall shook his head. “That’s not important now Slick. What is very pressing is who did write it.”

  Marshall handed a further handwriting sample to the two officers. “Look familiar?”

  Marie was first. “The writing looks the same to me. Whose is it?”

  Marshall was grave. He virtually spat each word, “Detective fucking Inspector Clive Williams.”

  “Fuck me.”

  It was unusual to hear Marie swear, but it seemed like the opportune moment.

  “Exactly,” added Marshall.

  Slick continued to examine the documents and finally spoke, “Who else knows this?”

  Marshall sat up straight. “The defence knows about the discrepancy and they’ve known for at least a day.”

  He paused, “Now,” Marshall produced photographs of the electrical flex that tied Anne’s wrists. He asked two questions he already knew the answers to. “Why is the defence so interested in this cord and why has it gone astray?”

  Marie studied the picture and shook her head. Slick did the same.

  Marshall prompted his team waiting for the light to come on.